


Buried

by SirenaRegina



Category: Original Work
Genre: Mental Health Issues, Non Fiction, Personal Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:42:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23287237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirenaRegina/pseuds/SirenaRegina
Summary: This is a short non fiction exercise focused on a "first time". This is the lead up to my first therapy session.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	Buried

If you had gone back in time to my 17 year old self, fresh out of graduation and told me that sophomore year of college would be the worst year of my life and that I would grow to loathe the very ground I would stand on, I wouldn’t have believed you. I was riding an ego high back then. After everyone was telling me that New York was way out of my reach, that my grades would only get me into community college, I wanted nothing more than to stick it to them by bragging about my acceptance to a school in upstate New York.

Which is exactly what I did. Every opportunity I got, I practically sang and danced about going to New York and leaving good ol’ Surf City in the dust. The first drive to the campus was something to behold. Only mom could go with me to help move in, and both of us were entranced by the tail end of New York’s summer. She leaves, autumn comes, and so does the seasonal depression.

Five hundred people. That’s it. The same five hundred over, and over, and over again. Couple that with shitty dining hall food and you have a recipe for a ticking time bomb. Exposure to snow wasn’t the best icing on that cake either; it looks pretty for the first couple days, then all you want to do is see it disappear. Burn over freeze, for sure.

Year one complete and I already wanna die. Four years of this? How can anyone do this in only four years? It’s ok though, I have my friends. Two are older, one is my year, but that’s ok because we’ve got each other's backs.

Surprise! Your grandpa is dying. Surprise! Someone you let get close to you has betrayed your trust. Surprise! Your professor could give less of a shit about you. Surprise! You’re actually worthless.

Overload. Everyone is on overload. Of course I can’t tell mom, she’s burdened by a million and one other things already. It’ll be an inconvenience to them, it’s best if they don’t know. Suck it up.

When did I start to hate being alone? I’ve always found it comforting, relaxing. I hate it now. Everyday I wake up with the same burning in my chest, or is it in my stomach? Or my heart? It hurts from sunup to sun down. Hurts to smile, an extra effort to laugh, nothing seems funny anymore. I want to punch everything. Noise, people, the mice in my wall, her. God, all I want to do is watch it all burn. We’re almost done here, soon we’ll be gone so be like Elsa and conceal, don’t feel.

Lightning round: I hate myself! I’m bisexual! I’m a Wiccan! All I want to do is fuck someone so maybe I’ll feel something! Why do I feel like everyone is watching me? I gained 15 pounds! All I want to do is go to sleep and not wake up!

Well, that plan went in the toilet. Merry fucking Christmas.

Let’s try something new this year. Let’s go to therapy. Everyone else gave her a 5 star review, so I guess I’ll stick with her. Tuesdays for an hour right after work, 7pm. Where do I start? Which issue do I open with? How long should I talk for? Should I take notes? What does it say about me if I cry? Can I even tell the full story without crying? I can’t do better than ‘I don’t know’.

Does anyone still see me the same way anymore? Is this strong? Is this fierce? Is it weakness? Is it madness? Do I look hurt or wounded? Can you see the cracks? Tell me, I don’t like looking in the mirror.

She’s nice. Warm. A balm from the blizzard outside. Kind, knowledgeable eyes. She’s everything the others told me about, so much so that I can’t help but cry. Don’t worry, these are happy tears today.


End file.
